


H(a)unting

by kally77



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Origin never happened. Angel meets a familiar face in an alley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	H(a)unting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekita/gifts).



> Inspired by [this picture](http://i1287.photobucket.com/albums/a629/kally77/150539_600_zps10a2996c.jpg).

The alley is dark. It reeks of demon blood. The first thing Angel sees is a mouth. Teeth. Large teeth. Too large. Too low. It takes him a couple seconds too many to realize it’s a picture. It’s been a long night. His head feels as heavy as the sword in his hand.

He sees the eyes, next. Animal eyes. A panther or some other big cat. And it’s a picture, all right, but it’s also moving toward him.

Higher up, a red pinprick flares bright. Images of Spike with a cigarette hanging from his mouth flash through Angel’s mind. It’s been a couple years since Spike left LA. He’s overdue in coming back to annoy the hell out of Angel. Those nights when Angel gets very, very drunk, he could almost admit he misses him. Or he would if there was anyone for him to confide in.

Another step. Two. And then it’s another pair of eyes Angel can see. Blue eyes he’s been seeing in his dreams for seven years, three months and two days. Eyes that used to peer up at him from inside a crib. Eyes he’s drawn hundreds of times. He always burns the drawings afterward; he doesn’t want anyone—an enemy—to find them and wonder who that boy is and why he haunts Angel.

“Nice sword,” comes out with an exhalation of smoke.

Angel remains very still. He blinks a couple of times, almost expecting the image in front of him to disappear. It doesn’t. Instead, it changes; metal flashes on the side. A knife, twirling in a thin, long hand, then gone again.

“I prefer knives, myself.”

Of course he does. He always did. Angel’s gaze drops a few inches, but there’s nothing to see behind the collar of that jacket.

“Are you him?”

Angel shudders. Before he can figure out what to answer, if anything, more words rise toward him in a voice whose inflexions he spent entire days trying to remember. It’s deeper, now. Calmer. But it’s still his boy’s voice.

“There’s rumors about a vampire with a soul who kills demons around here. That’s you, isn’t it?”

A nod is all Angel can manage.

If he opens his mouth he’ll say words he’s not entitled to anymore. Like father. Or son. Or love.

If he moves, he’ll fall to his knees or hug that boy – a man, now – and he has no right to do that either.

“I’ve been meaning to meet you for a while.” The cigarette flares bright again, then is discarded in a casual gesture. Another step, and the same hand that flourished the knife comes up, empty, a peace offering. “I thought we could join forces. I hunt demons, too. I used to do it upstate but I heard there’s more to do in LA. I’m Connor.”

Very slowly, Angel transfers the sword to his left hand, so he can shake Connor’s.

“I’m Angel,” he says, choking on the words. “Nice to meet you, Connor.”


End file.
